Stepchildren
by Rush Limborg
Summary: Set just after "The Cape Cad". Woody stops by Diane's apartment, and as it turns out, Diane could really use a kind ear and helping hand, as she continues to cope with the aftermath of her turning down Sam's proposal. Rated "T" for...the beginning. Enjoy, and let me know what you think!
1. Chapter 1

**Note: This story was written in part to address a little question that had arisen for me when I'd first seen "Dance, Diane, Dance"—particularly the mini-subplot concerning Diane panicking over whether or not her apartment was on fire. Considering the subplot of "The Cape Cad" (and how, when I'd first seen ****_that_****, I was suddenly reminded of Season One's "Let Me Count The Ways"—and found myself wishing Diane was around for Carla's final "solution" in "Cad"…), I suppose this story was inevitable. Special thanks to BFEOSAD, for reassuring me of the setting of the two key events in ****_Cheers_**** canon that inspired this tale.**

**In a way, this story's also a sequel of sorts to my "First Impressions Never Fade". I'm a big fan of the Woody/Diane friendship, and thus I knew it ****_had_**** to be this way. Enjoy!**

* * *

Somehow, Diane Chambers was a little reluctant to wash off the scent of the salty air. Sam Malone was certainly right about one thing…it had brought back many…_deeply_ pleasing memories.

Still, it had to be done. And so, she closed her eyes in the shower at her apartment, taking in the comforting rinse of the water…thinking over what had happened, this past day…the past _week_. All the things that had happened, so fast: Janet Eldritch, threatening to seize Sam from her, forever…Sam ultimately choosing _her_—Diane…his calling her, and asking her to marry him…and the oh-so-wonderful proposal, shattered so deeply by her own doubts, her own conflicting emotions….

And now—well, the complications at the inn…. She'd been so certain that she was doing the right thing, leaving, but—

She opened her eyes, blinking. Was that a _knock_ at the apartment door?

Diane turned off the water, opening the curtain. She was basically finished, anyhow. "Hello?" she called out.

She waited…and frowned.

_Was I only hearing things? Oh, look at me—I was only wondering if I'd done the right thing, leaving Sam there to…wallow in frustration—once again…and now—I imagine someone knocking at my door…someone—_

There it was again!

"Hello—who is it?" She called out.

A voice—she couldn't make it out, too clearly. Only…that it was a man's voice.

"Sam?!" Diane practically leapt out of the shower, taking her towel and wrapping it around her. She opened the bathroom door—"Sam, it that you?"

It wasn't Sam: "Uh…no, Miss Chambers, it's…me. Sorry to bother you, but—"

Diane sighed, shaking her head with a smile. "Oh—that's fine, Woody," she called out. "I'm a little busy, but—is something the matter?"

"Well, I guess it's…_kinda_ important—you left your purse at _Cheers_, an hour ago. I don't know…"

"Oh—right!" Diane rushed to the door without much of a thought, unlocking it and opening. "I—come right in."

Woody swallowed hard, somehow looking as though he'd suddenly tensed up, but he entered, heading straight to the couch, leaving Diane's white purse on the coffee table. As Diane closed the door, Woody straightened up—and looking _past_ her, said, "Well, Miss Chambers, I guess that'll be it. I…think I'd better get going—"

He started for the door, but Diane called out, "Wait—"

Woody stopped, still unusually stiff for some reason.

Diane sighed. "I-I'm sorry Woody, I…I suppose I just—feel as though I need someone. Someone to talk to, understand. Are—well, if you're needed at the bar, I under—"

"Oh, no, Miss Chambers!" Woody turned to her, relaxing and looking back to normal. "The bar's closed—we're done for tonight."

Diane nodded, "Of course…." She'd stopped by _Cheers_, just before coming home. Carla had bragged up and down about how she'd unloaded all the kittens of her new cat in a single day—by promising a free beer apiece. Apparently, that had caused _Norman_ had taken the whole litter home…to no one's surprise. Certainly not Diane's, at any rate.

Woody went on, "So if you want me here…well, I—guess that's great," he blinked, and let out a nervous chuckle, as he turned away.

Diane frowned, "Woody, is something—?"

And then it hit her. Her eyes widened, and it was now her turn to stiffen.

Woody blushed, staring at the ground.

"Oh—!" Diane felt a blush of her own, as she looked over herself—still clad in nothing but the towel. Word, she must have been _quite _a sight to the poor man, opening the door and, without any warning, causing him to behold the sight of a young woman, one tucked corner of cloth away from—!

"Well!" She looked up at him, forcing a chuckle. "I—suppose I'd better…" she gestured helplessly at the bathroom. "Excuse me—"

"Okay, Miss Chambers!" Woody sounded _very_ relieved, as Diane darted to the bathroom—slamming the door shut.

"_Oh_…" she moaned, banging her closed fist on her forehead. Of all the things to happened—and she'd actually asked him to stay, to _talk_ to her—and all while she was—!

She felt a tugging in her cheek—her hand shot to it, as she squeezed her eyes shut, willing the tic away with all her might.

_No…none of that. It's not as though he'll turn this against you—let alone _brag_ about this to the others. He's far too sweet and decent for that. But—still…oh, poor Woody. I've sent him into heaven-_knows_-how-many conflicting emotions, right now! On the one hand, I'm a close friend—and a lady whom he's made it a point to respect, deeply. But on the other…well…I _am_ a woman—and admittedly, one possessing of a certain physical _appeal_, and—_

None_ of that! What's done is done. He is still your friend…he still respects you, _deeply_, as you do, him…and you _do_ need the ear of a friend, now._

And so, she sighed, gathered her dignity, and went to work freshening herself, and so on. After a moment, she called out, "Oh—Woody? It's perfectly fine of you to sit down, and make yourself—" she flinched, but went on, "Um—comfortable. In fact, I was about to make myself some tea. When I'm done, if you'd like some…"

"Oh, that'd be great, Miss Chambers—thank you!"

Diane nodded, "All right!" she called back.

Once she'd finished re-dressing, she came back out, feeling quite relieved. And it certainly looked as though Woody felt relieved, as well.

Diane squirmed a little as she walked up to him, her hand raised a little. "Woody…first of all, I do apologize, most sincerely and _fully_. I can assure you, I do not have a…_tendency_ to—approach the door in _quite_ that manner—"

"Oh, that's okay, Miss Chambers. I'm fine."

Diane nodded, smiling. "Well…would you still care for tea?"

Woody nodded. "That'd be great, thanks."

"Right…" Diane headed over to the kitchen. "Would you care for some biscuits?"

"Sure, that's fine. I'm not too hungry though…."

Diane laughed, feeling relief at the new emotion. "Well, that's all right—neither am I. Now, how do you like your tea?"

"Oh, I don't care, Miss Chambers—however you'll make it, that's fine."

"Of course," she nodded, as she set to work. As the water boiled, she returned to the living room.

"Anyway," Diane said, as she sat down, "I must also thank you for bringing this back," she indicated the purse, "I can't understand—it's not typically like me to leave such things in a public place."

Woody shrugged. "Aw, that's okay—I do it all the time."

Diane pouted, "Well I _don't_!" She huffed, shaking her head as Woody sat down. "I can't believe I could be so _careless_…. Although," she sighed, looking at him, "I _suppose_ I've been a little lost in thought, tonight."

"Oh…okay. What were you thinking about?"

Diane felt her smile return. "In this case, Woody…it was a 'who'."

"Oh!—you mean, like the Dr. Seuss books?"

Diane blinked in confusion—and laughed, as the explanation hit her. "_No_, Woody," she shook her head. "I mean the question is about _whom_ I was thinking."

"Oh…" Woody mulled over this, and nodded, "Okay."

Diane nodded, smiling. "Well at any rate…I suppose it's best I tell you. It was Sam. It was everything that's happened—everything that's…come _between_ us—everything that's keeping us from…at last tying ourselves to one another in the bonds of matrimony we both so clearly desire."

Woody frowned in thought for a moment—and grinned, "Oh, I get it—this has to do with your wanting to marry him, doesn't it?"

Diane sighed. _I believe I just said that, Woody—but then, perhaps I once again over-spoke…didn't I?_ Funny—for the longest time, those around her had praised her natural talent for eloquence as one of her most endearing qualities. And then…she'd entered _Cheers_, for the first time, a little over four years ago. And somehow, she suddenly was surrounded by people who'd only reward her poetry of tongue with glazed eyes and a blank stare.

Bless his heart, Woody _did_ try, though—to understand. He was so often willing to listen to what she'd have to say. She always gave him credit for that, at least.

"Well," Diane replied, "That, too—and of course, his wanting the same. _Oh_, I know, he…is now throwing himself into a complete denial of that _simple_ fact, but—the undeniable truth is…so recently, and so _passionately_, he asked for my hand. And the things he told me, on the boat, that night…" she looked off, beaming, shaking her head in wonder…and she let out a sigh, "Oh, Woody, he opened his heart to me…it was the moment for which I'd been waiting, for so long, and…" her smile faded away, and she shook her head again, "And I so foolishly—I took something he'd said about _Janet_, and latched onto it, and I…oh, Woody, I…"

"Yeah, you said 'no', right?"

Diane stared at the floor. "I—suppose I was worried that he wasn't proposing to me, _for me_…but against Janet. I thought he was on an emotional rebound—but he wasn't. And…and he was so _crushed_, I…" she turned to Woody, blinking away her tears. "And now, he's—bottled those emotions within, and refuses to—to open his heart to me, again."

Woody frowned, and nodded slowly. "So, did he _tell_ you to go away, tonight?"

Diane paused, and shook her head, "No, I—well, come to think of it, I, um…thinking over it _now_, I wonder if I haven't, tonight…forced his heart _closed_, once more. He was—willing and eager to re-consummate our _passions_, but…well, I suppose I saw a lingering bitterness—either that, or…a frustration over my—_insistence_ to see it as more than simply that. Woody—understand, I _love_ him…and I know that he loves me—as deeply as I, him. But…I feel as though he cannot admit it to _himself_. And perhaps I'm to blame for it—perhaps he's afraid of baring his soul to me, now, but…"

Her voice trailed off, as she shook her head. Woody just looked at her, and asked, "So, what happened, Miss Chambers?"

Diane looked up, "_Well_, he…lashed out. Not—_lashed_ out, but…he made a sort of jest concerning my own prior reluctance. I…suppose I took it to mean he was still bitter."

"And that's when you left?"

"Well…yes." Diane shrugged. "Of course, he was so _desperate_ to have me change my mind. I…told him it was best we wait. And—now I'm here…and he's at the inn. And for all I know, he's still _right_ where I left him…telling himself he'll still enjoy his time, there…alone…with no one with him…no one—by his side, enjoying the salt in the air…"

Diane shook her head once again, "Oh, Woody—did I make a mistake? Do you think I should've stayed?"

She turned back to Woody, who looked off, and shrugged. "Well, gee, Miss Chambers," he said, "I'm…not nearly as smart as you are. I mean—why ask me? I don't know too much about this kind of thing."

"Oh, Woody…" Diane put a hand on his shoulder, "You're telling me you have so little knowledge of…the wonderful times when a man and a woman…enter one another's lives? When they discover a bond between them—and…fall for one another?"

Woody shrugged, "Well, there's Beth, I guess…but, you know—" He actually stiffened a little.

Diane frowned. "Woody, what's wrong? Did—did you and Beth have a…quarrel?"

Woody shrugged again, and smiled a little, "I dunno, Miss Chambers. She hasn't written in a while. I'm a little concerned."

Diane swallowed, and shook her head, "Oh, Woody…."

"It's probably nothing. Anyway, other than her, I haven't really had…well, much luck with women, you know?"

"Why, _Woody_—I can't believe that's _true_…!" Diane tightened her hold a little on his shoulder, "Why, you're…handsome, and _vibrant_, and sweet—and _very_ charming. Why, I'm sure there would be…_countless_ women who'd be more than willing to…take part in such a romantic endeavor with you."

"You really think so, Miss Chambers?"

"Oh, I _know_ so, Mr. Boyd! Why, shortly _before_ Beth arrived, I happened to notice an admittedly attractive young lady who'd been—and let's be _perfectly_ honest, now, Woody…she was _flirting_ with you. She referred to you—to your _face_, mind you—as, and I quote, 'really cute'. She asked you if you would—"

"But I'm still with Beth, Miss Chambers."

Diane sighed. "Woody…that isn't the point. Well, in a sense I suppose it is—you certainly don't want to be untrue to her! But the _point_ is, you seem to not give yourself the sort of credit you truly deserve."

"Well, I don't know about that—but I'm pretty sure I'm no Sam, I can tell you _that_."

Diane snorted. "And thank heaven for it."

Woody paused for a moment, and said, "Well…how do you mean, Miss Chambers?"

Diane sighed. "Well…I suppose I'll say one is enough, as far as _I_ am concerned."

Woody seemed to blush a little. "Oh…oh, right."

Diane chuckled, and moved her hand from his shoulder to his chin. And she gave him a light kiss on the cheek.

Woody shrugged, with a nervous smile. "What was that, Miss Chambers?"

Diane shrugged. "For being you, Woody. And—if something…_does_ happen, and Beth—well, God forbid if something _happens_…you won't need to worry."

"How do you mean, Miss Chambers?"

"Well, just that—you'll find someone. I _know_ you will."

"Yeah…" Woody smiled, "Hey, didn't you tell me once, something about 'marrying into—'"

Diane chuckled, "Well, I wouldn't advise you to make that your _top_ priority, Woody. But if she _does_ come from a prosperous family—and if you _truly_ love her…well, so much the better. But the love comes first, of course."

"Well, yeah, I figured. That wouldn't make much sense, would it—if we _don't_ love each other…"

Diane nodded. "Precisely, Woody. And even then…well, I'm reasonably sure my mother and father loved one another, at _some_ point. But…well, for one thing, I rarely recall them—_being_ in love, as I grew. And…well I'm not sure if this amounts to any sort of 'proof', but—I _was_ an only child."

Woody said nothing.

Diane shrugged, "Well, for a time, my—"

The tea kettle started to whistle.

Diane chuckled, and rose to her feet, heading to the kitchen. She turned off the stove, took the kettle, and poured it into the teapot on the tray on the table, the right amount of bags already in place. She put the kettle back, and then carried the tray to the couch, setting it down on the table.

"As I was saying," she said, as she poured out two cups, "My…only true companion at home was—our cat, Elizabeth. Elizabeth Barrett Browning—but…that's another—story entirely."

"Miss Chambers, you okay?"

Diane realized right then that the pot had been trembling a little, in her hands. She sighed, finished pouring, and set it down. "I'm fine, Woody," she said, "Thank you."

As she took her cup, and began to sip, Woody asked, "So, you have a cat, Miss Chambers?"

"I…had one, yes," Diane said—setting down the cup, just in case. She said, "Oddly enough…Woody, I remember—almost four years ago. When—when Mummy called, and…told me that—that Elizabeth had…had died—I was…" she swallowed, and went on, "I found myself—struggling, barely able to…proceed with my duties, at the bar. Finally, Sam, he—he took me into his office, and he offered to sit down, with me…and to _be_ there for me, as I told him…told him how much she'd meant to me."

Diane turned to Woody, and said, "Oh, Woody, I couldn't believe it—Sam Malone, of _all_ people…sharing my grief…and my _tears_! He was there for me, when no one else seemed able to truly understand—but _he_ did, Woody. He was _there_…and—" she blinked, and her smile returned, "And, well, I didn't understand it at the time—I didn't know what I was feeling, then, but…oh, Woody, it was then that, in my heart, I _knew_."

"Knew what, Miss Chambers?"

Diane felt her smile grow, as her eyes moistened. "I've known I love him ever since, Woody. There were—times when I denied it to myself, and to others, but…well, that was the moment those feelings truly…clarified into an undeniable form…though, as I said, I didn't truly understand them."

Woody nodded. "I think I know what you mean, Miss Chambers."

Diane nodded. "Well…thank you, Woody."

"Thank _you_, Miss Chambers. You…kinda did help _me_, a lot. I-I still hope nothing's going on, with Beth, though."

"Me too, Woody," Diane said, softly. She sipped her tea, musing, _I'd hate to see you finding your own heart broken, my friend. You, of all people, don't deserve it._

Woody took his own cup, staring at it.

"Oh—" Diane set hers down, and reached over to the accessories, "Milk, lemon, and sugar—right here, Woody."

"Oh, okay—thanks, Miss Chambers…."

After their tea was mixed to their respective likings, Woody thought for a moment, and asked, "When did Sam realize he loved _you_, Miss Chambers?"

Diane blinked, and chuckled, "Well—I _would_ say to ask him, if he weren't in such vehement denial of his feelings!"

"Oh, okay. So…when he's _not_ in 'denial', I'd better ask him—"

Diane held up a hand. "Woody…I think it'd be best you…forget about that question. If it's ever appropriate to ask, you'll remember it _then_, I'm sure."

"Okay, Miss Chambers." Woody drank his tea.

When he was finished, he said, "Hey, um…Miss Chambers?"

"Yes, Woody?"

"Thanks for asking me to stay and talk."

Diane chuckled. "Well—thank _you_ for accepting my request."

"Sure thing, Miss Chambers." He rose to his feet, with his cup. "I, uh…guess I'd better put this in the sink, huh?"

Diane smiled up at him. "Oh, it's fine, Woody. You can set it down, here. I'll put it away."

"Okay…" he did so, and nodded. "Good night, Miss Chambers."

Diane nodded, "Good night, Woody."

Woody turned, and left.

Diane looked off, staring at nothing in particular, as she refilled her cup. She couldn't help remember, despite herself, when she'd first met Woody—and how quickly their friendship had started. Perhaps it was Coach—dear Coach, may he rest in peace (and Diane truly meant that wish for him…with all her heart)…such a dear friend to her—something of a second father. For all his…limitations—he was always there: the kind, dear, gentle man…who still possessed such an air of authority. It was always obvious how deeply Sam respected him…and why.

And—and then he'd been taken from them all…and one of the deepest regrets of Diane's life was that she hadn't been there…hadn't been able to—to truly say goodbye. Not properly—the funeral had been held when she was away…in Europe.

When she'd returned to Boston, to work at the convent…she'd visited his grave, with the abbess. She remembered…remembered asking the older woman, _"Do you think he can see us? Do…do you think he knows I'm here?"_

_"Diane,"_ the abbess had said, with a sad, wise smile, _"It's…not for me to answer such questions. I cannot say whether…your friend can truly witness the goings-on of the living. All I can tell you is…_God_ sees, child—and hears. And as He is a loving God…I feel He _will_ convey it to your friend—somehow."_

Diane sighed. Coach was gone, and nothing could change that. But, at any rate—Woody was there, now…at the bar, where Coach had been. And her friendship with him hadn't been the same as it was with Coach, but…they both shared a friendship with the older man, at least. Woody had been "pen pals"—as it were—with Coach…but that was presumably all; it wasn't the same sort of thing. Nonetheless, Diane had often wondered if Woody had, though his own father was still alive…she'd wondered whether Woody had ever viewed the late, so very lamented Coach the same way _she_ did: as a second father….

Well, whether he did or not—it was somehow appropriate, wasn't it? The way she viewed Woody…

_"So, he's…what? The little brother you always wanted, but never had?"_

Diane sighed, staring into her tea. "Yes, Sam," she whispered, "In many ways…I suppose he is."


	2. Chapter 2

Woody Boyd headed down the stairs, from Miss Chambers's apartment. To tell the truth, he wasn't much of a thinking man. But, he found himself thinking _now_—very hard.

And it all centered on one little fact: Miss Chambers was alone.

Well, he knew Sam loved her—and that, sooner or later, he was going to admit it. But it wasn't just that—Miss Chambers had sounded pretty desperate, wanting to talk to someone.

He paused on the stairs, thinking—hard.

She was his friend…as he'd told her, not too long ago, she and Sam were maybe his two favorite people in the whole world. And…and he didn't like seeing her so _sad_, like that—sad on the inside, behind her smile…sad because there wasn't anyone around, with her.

Sam and Miss Chambers were good friends…and somehow, Woody got the idea that, if everything _were_ perfect, between them—if they _were_ together—Sam would sure be there for her, whenever she needed him. But…who knew how long that was going to be?

He sighed, and finished his walk down the stairs.

As he went through the doors, suddenly, a thought came to him. He looked up at the apartment building, as he remembered something Miss Chambers had talked about—and then around the street, searching for a phone booth.

He saw one, and smiled. He ran up to it, put in the money, and dialed.

"Hello?" came the voice of Norm Peterson.

"Hey, uh, Mr. Peterson? It's Woody. I sure hope I didn't wake you."

"No, it's okay, Woody—just got back from _Cheers_. So, what's up—a surplus of beer you want to get rid of?"

Woody frowned. "Uh…no, Mr. Peterson. I haven't checked. Why?"

"Oh…just asking. So, what do you need?"

"Well, um—if it's not too much trouble, Mr. Peterson, I was wondering…"

* * *

Diane was unable to sleep, that night. While she didn't regret talking to Woody—not in the slightest!—still…their conversation had invoked many other feelings she'd long thought buried, or forgotten. While it would have been difficult for rest to claim her, before…it was certainly worse, now.

Still, she didn't regret talking to Woody—not in the slightest. And further, she wouldn't be working at _Cheers_ tomorrow—the bar would be closed for the day. Enough time for rest to claim her, certainly.

Lying on her couch, and wearing her dressing gown, she flipped through the channels of her small portable TV. Nothing particularly interesting…so she turned it off, with a sigh.

The honest truth was…well, it was so many things. Not only Sam, and this…endless debacle of emotions, keeping them apart—but…thinking about Coach…and dear Elizabeth—it…it reminded her, yet again, of how alone she felt—the inkling of loneliness afflicting her heart, since she'd ran to escape her wedding to…to poor Frasier. Oh, when she'd returned to _Cheers_, it was…more or less as it had been, her first year there. But…in a sense it hadn't been. Now, she was all too aware of how alone she truly was. She shared her apartment with her stuffed friends—Mr. Jammers, Freddy Frogbottom, and all the rest…and they'd provided comfort to her before—and they still did, of course…. But—it certainly wasn't the same as a live companion, be it Sam, or Frasier…or even Elizabeth.

Perhaps because of Elizabeth, she'd been able to cope with being "by herself" for so long…able to think and feel alone. Though she liked to think of herself as very social…there was always, it had become increasingly clear to her over the years, something "off"—particularly amongst the "blue-collar" culture of _Cheers_. Whenever she'd tried to converse about the many things that gave her pleasure or joy—the other so often reacted with a mild impatience…or at best, with the faint smile of amusement, the look of "Ah, there she goes again…Diane, and her monologues and twenty-dollar words."

And oftentimes, it wasn't only them. Dick Cavett choosing to encourage Sam's story over her poetry…Frasier's mother so callously playing such cold-hearted mind-games with her, and then labeling her a "_pseudo_-intellectual"…so often, even the "crowd" with whom she _should_, by all accounts, have felt at home—even they would so often make her feel as an outsider.

_From childhood's hour_, she recited in her mind the verse from Poe,_ I have not been/ As others were; I have not seen/ As others saw; I could not bring/ My passions from a common spring./ From the same source I have not taken/ My sorrow; I could not awaken/ My heart to joy at the same tone;/ And all I loved…I loved alone_….

Oh, she would never have described her arc through the years as _quite_ so dismal—despite, of course the turmoil of her parents…the death of her dear father…or the careless disposal of her by that infernal Sumner Sloan. And yet…when she'd broken up with Sam, that first time…it was as though an old, deep would had been opened—one she'd never known she possessed. But possess it, she had…and it frightened her.

She'd been so sure, when she'd begun her relationship with Frasier, that she'd found someone, at last—an oasis in this desert, who'd understand her, and _express_ that understanding in a seamless camaraderie. And in a sense, he did. And yet…even then, she was somehow alone, in herself.

Oh, she'd eventually came to understand why, in part: in many ways, Sam Malone understood her far better. Much as Diane loved to jest about his lack of culture or higher learning…he truly did. And it was only with _him_, she'd long come to discover, that this feeling of inner isolation would vanish. And if that wasn't "love"—true, full love…then she had no understanding of the term, whatsoever.

But Sam wasn't here, with her. And in many ways, she was to blame for it—not only because she'd turned down his beautiful proposal…but tonight, when she'd decided to return here, rather than satisfy the mutual passions of the moment. For all she knew, letting his jest slide tonight, and proceeding as they both so desired…it could well have led to a proposal in the immediate aftermath. But she hadn't done that—and so, they were both alone, for tonight.

And right now, the only thing keeping her from falling into melancholy was…it was the knowledge that he _did_ love her, in kind. If he hadn't, he wouldn't have proposed as he had…hadn't bared his heart and his soul, as he had. He…wouldn't have been as pained or embittered as he was, when she'd said "no"…with what was so clearly nothing less than the pain and bitterness of a broken heart.

Diane's heart was pained as well, now…and not only with regret; now, those feelings of loneliness were threatening to re-surface—and only by securing herself in the confident, smiling knowledge that Sam Malone _would_ ask for her hand again, _soon_…only thus could she hold those feelings at bay.

She only…well, right now—she was beginning to fear it wouldn't be enough.

A knock on the door.

Diane straightened up on the couch, "Who is it?" she called.

"It's me, Miss Chambers."

"Oh—" Diane rose to her feet, and headed to the door, opening it. "What's wrong, Woody? Did you forget something?"

Woody smiled at her. "No, nothing's wrong, Miss Chambers. I…just thought I'd give you something."

Diane blinked, and suddenly noticed the small box—a shoe box. She chuckled, as she stepped aside, for him to enter. "Why…Woody! I'm—touched! May I inquire as to the occasion?"

Woody shrugged, as he came in, Diane closing the door. "Well, I thought of it, and I thought you'd like it—especially after everything we talked about, tonight."

Well, now! This was interesting, at that—Woody of all people, being _cryptic_? Diane chuckled again, shaking her head. "Well, then? You're not going to keep me in the dark for _long_, now, are—?"

She heard a noise from the box—a small noise, almost shrill, but not unpleasant in the slightest. She wasn't sure, but it sounded like a—

Diane froze, her mouth opening in a silent gasp. She looked up at Woody, who beamed back at her.

"W-Woody…!" she managed to whisper. "Is—is that—?"

Woody grinned, and handed her the box, "Why not open it and see, Miss Chambers?"

Diane slowly took it, taking it to the coffee table, setting it down as she sat on the couch. She opened it…and yes, it was.

"Oh—_oh_, Woody!" she managed to say, as she lifted the kitten out of the box. "He…he's so—"

Woody chuckled, as he sat down beside her. "Yeah, he's cute, isn't he?"

Diane nodded, happy tears forming in her eyes as she smiled at the little one in her hands. "He's absolutely adorable, Woody. Was—is he, perchance, one of…well, formerly of Carla's cat?"

"Yeah, I figured Mr. Peterson wouldn't mind giving at least one of them away…especially if it meant helping you out, Miss Chambers."

Diane turned to Woody, frowning a little. "Come again?"

Woody paused for a moment, and said, "Well, I…kinda figured you've been pretty much alone, for a while, and…well, you know, I kinda thought you—kinda needed…"

"_Oh_, Woody…!" Diane set the kitten back in the open box…and put her arms around Woody, holding him tight…letting her tears run free.

She held him for a moment…and when she released him, she wiped away her tears, such as she could, and turned back to the kitten. Clearing her throat, she said, "I…don't suppose you—brought the appropriate supplies—?

"Oh, yeah, absolutely! The bag's just outside in the hall, if you want me to go get it."

"Oh, no need, at the moment," Diane said, as she cuddled the little one in her arms. The kitten snuggled up to her, letting out a purr.

"Hey, I think he likes you, Miss Chambers!" Woody said.

Diane nodded. "Yes, I believe he does…. All right, little one, what should we call you, hmm? Did Norman and his wife already name him, Woody?"

Woody frowned, "No, I don't think so…."

"_Well_!" Diane grinned at the kitten, "I suppose I'll have to call him Christopher, then. Christopher Marlowe."

"Uh, wouldn't that be…Christopher Chambers, or something?"

Diane chuckled, turning to Woody, "No, Woody—Christopher Marlowe was an Elizabethan poet and dramatist. I found his work highly memorable—not as influential to me as that of Elizabeth Barrett Browning or Sylvia Plath, but…still, I thought it'd be highly appropriate."

"Oh, okay. Could I just call him 'Christopher', or something?"

Diane nodded, smiling. "I…think that _would_ be ideal."

Woody frowned for a moment, thinking. Finally he said, "I don't get it. Your first cat wrote poetry?"

Diane laughed. "_No_, Woody—she was named _after_ the poetess Elizabeth Barrett Browning."

Christopher looked up at her, and let out another small but insistent "Mew!"

"Oh—" Diane straightened up. "Woody, I don't suppose Carla supplied Norman with milk from his mother?

Woody shook his head. "I don't think so. She'd said something about their being weaned ahead of time, before she gave them away."

"Of _course_ she did…" Diane muttered, shaking her head. "Well—he certainly _looks_ about old enough…heaven knows why, though. Something tells me they were already 'around' _long_ before Carla discovered them…which, to be _blunt_—speaks volumes about her observational skills!"

Woody shrugged.

"Regardless, I suppose we'd better be safe…certainly for tonight. Is there any kitten milk in the bag? Not _food_, mind you—"

"Uh—yeah, there is, Miss Chambers! I'll go bring it all in…."

He did so, taking out a bottle and a bowl. Diane rose, carrying Christopher over, as she instructed Woody with what she remembered from her many readings—but Woody knew the rest, as Norman had presumably given him the instructions. Finally, with everything in the bowl, Diane set the kitten down, guiding him until he began to drink on his own.

Diane sighed. "Tomorrow, I suppose I'll have to bring him to a veterinarian. He'll certainly need it, with Carla's…_considerable_ impatience."

"Okay, Miss Chambers. I don't suppose you'll need me for anything more, tonight?"

Diane smiled up at Woody, and shook her head. "No, Woody…I think you've done quite wonderfully, already."

Woody nodded, returning the smile. "Well—good night, Miss Chambers."

"Hey—Woody?"

"Yeah, Miss Chambers?"

Diane's smile grew, as she kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you," she said.

Woody nodded again. "You're welcome, Miss Chambers. And…good luck. With Christopher, and…with Sam, too."

Dane nodded, straightening up. "Thank you, Woody. But—never fear about Sam and me: no matter what obstacles come our way, we _shall_ unite in the bonds of matrimony, ever pledging our undying and eternal love."

"And…then you'll marry, right?"

Diane chuckled, nodding. "Good night, Woody."

"G'night, Miss Chambers." And he closed the door…and that was that.

Diane turned to little Christopher, who was consuming to his heart's content. She went to work, taking the box and fixing it appropriately, filling it with litter from the bag. And when Christopher was done, Diane took him, placing him in the box.

"I _sincerely_ hope," she said to him, "that Sam won't somehow prove allergic to you."

Christopher said nothing, looking at her questioningly.

Diane smiled. "Sam Malone—he's your new father. But—don't tell him just _yet_. He doesn't think he's ready. _Now_…"

She took the box, carrying it to her bedroom, setting it down beside the bed. And after washing her hands, she turned off the lights of the apartment, and climbed into bed.

After a moment, she felt a soft tuff of fur. She opened her eyes, and saw little Christopher right there, resting peacefully beside her.

Diane smiled, moved the comforter over him…and closed her eyes, as sleep claimed her, at last.

* * *

**Note: By the way, if you're wondering, I'd personally speculate Christopher is the particularly "adventurous" kitten on Norm's shoulder and arm, near the end of "The Cape Cad." That one struck me as the kitty least "content" with the current situation….**


End file.
